


The Last Argument

by Anonymous



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anger, Episode: s01e10 Silent Night, Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-18 23:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22001491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When Ian had decided to turn up unannounced at Owen’s house this morning, he’d known the argument would be bad. But he hadn’t known it would bethisbad.
Relationships: Owen Shannon/Ian Turner
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8
Collections: Anonymous Collection, New Year's Sins Flash Exchange





	The Last Argument

“The Surgeon had a bag man, Ian! I know it! Look at what he did to that poor girl – not a chance in hell he could have—”

“Owen, it’s been ten years. You hear me, Owen? Ten years. The only way the Surgeon’s getting out of that loony bin is in a coffin. Let it go.”

When Ian had decided to turn up unannounced at Owen’s house this morning, he’d known the argument would be bad. But he hadn’t known it would be _this_ bad.

“But I can’t let it go! Not when there’s another serial killer still out there!” Owen yelled, pacing back and forth in what little floor space his cramped living room offered. He took another long, hard pull from the bottle. He was drinking wine straight from the bottle. His eyes were bloodshot, wet with tears. “I’m—”

“What you are is drunk, and it’s not even noon. They’re going to take your badge, you hear me? They’re going to _fire you_.”

Owen halted his pacing and whirled on Ian. “I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? No more dirty Owen Shannon and his dirty investigative methods dirtying your angelic ascent to the top of the org chart.”

He could be hurtful when he was drunk. Ian was used to it.

“Oh come on, you know I don’t care about that. It’s _you_ I care about, _you_ I love—”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Owen interrupted, dismissive. He wouldn’t be sidetracked from his obsessions, not when he was like this. His lips were curled back from his teeth. He was practically snarling. “That kid, I know he fucking knew someth—”

“‘That kid’ is twenty-one years old. Malcolm Whitly isn’t a kid anymore, and I hear from Gil he wants to join the FBI after he graduates college.” Ian could hear the annoyance creeping into his own voice now, and though he didn’t like it, he couldn’t help it. Owen could cast as many aspersions on Ian’s motives as he liked, but when Owen tried to drag the Surgeon’s son into these old arguments – now that was a bridge too far…

“Swell. Fucking A. Special Agent Accomplice, keeping the country safe from our enem—”

“ _Owen_.”

“Get out.”

“Owen, what—”

“Get the fuck out, I said. It’s my house, and you’re not welcome anymore.”

Ian gaped. “Owen, don’t be silly. You know I’m on your side—”

He almost didn’t duck in time; Owen hadn’t given any warning before hurling that wine bottle straight at his head. It smashed against the wall, glass shattering. The spatters of wine looked almost like watered down blood.

Ian watched the wine drip in down the wall and onto the floor. That was going to leave a stain for sure. “Alright,” he whispered, resigned and heavy of heart. He’d stayed for love. He’d stayed and stayed and stayed. Maybe their problem – both their problems – was that he’d overstayed his welcome. “Alright,” he repeated. “I’m leaving. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t remember walking out of that house, never to return, or getting back into his car, but he must’ve done it because he was halfway back to the precinct before he realized that he’d started to cry.


End file.
